A Stubborn Mind, or, Maybe Ron Was Right
by Slytherins Kick ASS
Summary: Malfoy's a git.  That's all there is to it.  He can trick and tease and charm his way into the hearts of millions, but Harry knows the truth.  Malfoy's a git.


**Howdy, y'all! I know, I know, you're all asking "Why, oh **_**why**_** haven't you updated 'He's Such a DICK!'? Well, here's the reason for you right here, chillin's.**

**I'd like to dedicate this little dittie to chavon13, who helped keep my spirits high and my fingers cramped. Many thanks to a wonderful reviewer.**

**And, yes, I know this is not the story I hinted about in my other fic (which you should read! And review!)- I just had to put out a oneshot. Just one.**

**Enjoy!**

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A Stubborn Mind, or, Maybe Ron Was Right

Lesson One

Harry rubbed his temples and looked down at the pile of rubbish that was supposed to be his desk. Pigwidgeon had just arrived from London, knocked over an inkwell and a cup of quills, and promptly collapsed on top of Harry's paperwork. Overlooking the gasping owl, he turned his attention to the crumpled scroll attached to its leg.

_Harry-_

It read,

_I was hoping you could come to my birthday party this Saturday. I know the letter's kind of late, I told Hermione you didn't need one, that you would come whether I sent Pig out into the middle of nowhere or not, but she insisted. You know how she gets. Women._

_Don't bother with getting me a present. I know you're just aching to,- _Harry smiled,_ -but nobody's allowed through the door with a package, though I still don't know how I'll stop my mother._

_Also, I guess I'll have to warn you that Draco will be there. Before you send me a Howler listing all the reasons he should be uninvited and hated and shunned from the magical community, know that he'll still be invited. Don't make a scene at my party about it._

_See you then,_

_Ron_

Below Ron's message was a short note from Hermione.

_Harry,_

_We're serious about Draco- please just give him a chance! I know he was a bit harsh to us at school- _Harry rolled his eyes. That was an understatement if he'd ever heard one _–but that was years ago. We've all changed. He's willing to try with you, why can't you just give him a chance?_

_Much love,_

_Hermione_

_P.S.: Please __do__ bring Ron a gift, won't you? He's just trying to be humble, but we all know how much he loves the attention, and you __do__ bring the best surprises. Thanks._

Harry smiled at his friend's postscript, but sobered as he read through the rest again. Bloody Malfoy. The stupid bastard was on Ron's Quidditch team, the London Lionhearts. Harry would have laughed at the irony of a snake flying with lions, in fact he had when he'd first found out, but the Chaser had turned out to be the bane of his existence. Again.

When Ron had first showed up at Harry's door, in a fit of rage and needing a large brandy, Harry had been surprised to say the least. He'd offered his sympathies as best he could, and suggested bribing one of the beaters to permanently retire the git. Slightly cheered, Ron had Apparated home, only to show up two weeks later with soaring spirits.

"You won't believe it!" He'd said. "Malfoy's actually _not_ been a git. You've got to come meet him, Harry, he's… not Malfoy!" At first Harry had adamantly refused to re-meet his old school rival, ignoring Ron's, Hermione's and even Ginny's testimonies that he was in _any_ way different than he'd been at Hogwarts. After about a month and a half of coaxing, however, he'd finally buckled.

Grudgingly, he'd agreed to meet Malfoy and the Weasley-Grangers at a nice restaurant in London. He'd even had the gall to hope for a pleasant time. Harry had been sorely disappointed, to say the least.

While Hermione had babbled on about how great Malfoy was with children (so _that's_ how he'd snagged her!) and how babies had an incredible sense of people and how little Jane had taken to him _immediately_, and wasn't it _interesting_ that babies could get a fever when they teethed? Harry had sat stoically silent, arms crossed, as Malfoy smirked at him across the table. Things had grown steadily worse from there.

First, Harry had knocked over his glass, and Malfoy just _had_ to help mop it up, then had gone on to insert funny, non-Mudblood related comments at exactly the right times to crack up both Ron and Hermione (Harry, of course, hadn't laughed once, simply on principle), and smiled all too easily to be innocent. But Harry saw it now, oh yes. How could he have been so blind?

Malfoy had asked Harry oh-so-politely for the salt, and as he reached over, Harry saw a miniscule _something_ drop out of the bastard's sleeve and into his soup. Tiny, yes, but definitely there!

"What did you put in my food, Malfoy?" He had asked.

The Chaser had looked up, apparently nonplussed. "What?"

"I know you put something in my food," Harry's voice rose as he stood, "what was it? Poison?!?"

Ron had reached up to Harry's arm. "Hey, mate, I was watching, he didn't put-"

"He put fucking poison in my food!" Harry yelled, whipping out his wand to point between the blonde's eyes. Malfoy raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

"Easy there, Potter. Paranoia is a Slytherin trait-"

"_Shut_ up!" Harry yelled. The other patrons of the restaurant had gone dead silent, watching the scene unfold. He whipped around and Disapparated straight home, immediately sending letters to Ginny and Ron and Hermione, warning them to stay away from the ex-Slytherin and watch their backs.

Nobody believed him.

Hermione said they'd had the food tested to be sure. The twins said it was all just unresolved sexual tension. Ginny told Harry to stop being such a bloody schizophrenic and make some friends already.

Harry huffed.

Nobody _ever_ believed him.

Since then, Malfoy had been everywhere Harry turned. Ministry parties, the Weasley-Granger's, The Prophet… He was even in Witch Weekly's Top Ten Most Charming Smiles issue! Bloody hell! Not that Harry read Witch Weekly… Bloody Malfoy and his bloody tight clothes and his bloody deep laugh and his bloody broomstick, charming people left and right- well, he wouldn't get Harry! The last time they'd seen eachother, they (Harry) had nearly burned down the Quidditch pitch. _That_ had given the papers a field day.

So here he was now, eight months and countless attempts at reconciliation later, and he still hated Malfoy with a passion.

Harry sighed angrily and lifted Pigwidgeon off his paperwork. Noting the mess on the Time-Turner Transportation forms, he cursed loudly. Jenkins would flip his shit if Harry didn't redo them completely. That man was a Nazi.

Figuring he'd deal with work later, Harry placed the weary owl in Hedwig's window cage, hoping this latest trip hadn't killed it. Though not quite as feeble as Hedwig, the miniature bird was getting on in years, and Harry didn't want to have to worry about bringing a dead pet home to Ron. Happy birthday, indeed.

The wizard stared out over the wild countryside and wondered; what to get Ron…

Harry showed up at Ron's door impeccably dressed, hair combed (not that it made a difference, even after all these years), carrying a long, thin package carefully in his hands. This year, he thought, he had definitely found the right present. Under the nondescript brown paper wrapping lay one of the original Silver Arrows, a broom made in 1807, the Firebolt of its time. Though not too useful anymore, the old Strikelong model was a great collector's item.

Before Harry could rap more than twice on the tall oak door, it swung open to reveal the grinning face of his long-time best friend.

Ron Weasley-Granger had changed quite a bit since the War days. Constant Quidditch training had sculpted his muscles and given him a healthy, content glow. Gangly and oblivious in school, Ron had grown to be a full-bodied, kind-faced man with a sort of magnetism around him. When you looked into his eyes, you felt safe and welcome. It was no wonder he had become so popular.

"Harry!" The man reached out and dragged Harry through the door and into a swarming crowd of people. Trying desperately not to get lost amongst the partygoers, Harry allowed himself to be pulled over to a table heaping in packages and parcels. Ron gave him a mock-disappointed glare. "I told you not to bring me a present, douche bag. But since you're such a horrible friend, put it here." He grabbed the wrapped broomstick out of his friend's hand and placed it amongst the other gifts.

Grinning, Harry asked, "So who all's here?"

Ron shrugged. "Oh, just the usual. Hermione and the rest of my family, of course. Charlie took some time off special so he could get here. Then there's Hannah, Terry, Jesse, Dean, Seamus, the team, Justin, Earnie, Alex, Alex_is_, Oliver (he's been trying to find out my training regimen all night, the nosy blighter), Angelina, Jacob Knowles, Skip, just about everyone. Wait, no, Neville couldn't make it because of some weird plant he's growing that needs to be tended constantly, but he did send me _that_." He pointed to a large pot that seemed to be full to the brim with a green, sweet-smelling soil that swirled like water. "Still haven't found anyone who knows what it is. So how's work?"

As they talked, like old friends do, about nothing in particular, Harry peered around at the crowd. Familiar faces filled the large room, all talking animatedly amongst eachother. Harry smiled. The War had taken so many lives, but had left millions more; There was Hannah Abbott, who'd taken over for Ollivander; Hagrid, who's wild mane of hair was graying and beetle-black eyes were developing a milky undertone; Angelina Johnson, who was an incredible asset in the new Centaur Liaison Office.

Still grinning, Harry set off to find Hermione, when he was stilled by a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Harry!" It was Charlie. "Good to see you! I was wondering- could you grab us a couple bottles of wine from the cellar? We're nearly out."

"Oh, uh, sure, no problem, Charlie. Be right back." He turned towards the kitchen.

"Mr. Potter! You're not leaving without saying hello? How's our favorite little homo?" He was nearly bowled over by two pairs of arms enveloping him, crushing his ribs.

"Hello Fred, George." Harry gasped. "I was just going to get some wine. Care to join me?"

George shook his head. "Oh, no, your Lordship." He said, employing the nickname Harry'd received when he got his job. "You tempt us so! How can you expect us to stay wholesome, upstanding citizens of this fine country if you continue to draw us towards your life of sin?"

"So true," Fred added, "I must say, I feel rather offended that you would think so low of us as to offer us _alcohol! _ It poisons your mind, you know!" He blustered, tapping his temple.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. There was no having a normal conversation with those two. "Yes, well, anyways, I've got to go get that wine. See you." He clapped Fred on the back and departed.

Closing the basement door behind him, Harry saw that there was already someone in the room. He heard the lock click.

"Harry," a voice called through the door, "we're going to have to lock you in down there."

"What?!?" He called, reaching for the handle. Yep. They weren't lying. It was locked. Damn.

"We're tired of your little catfights, mate." Ron's voice wafted through the door as well, dripping with humor. "We're not letting you out until you can make like good little children and be civil."

"Oh good Lord." Came a quiet voice from below. Harry yelped in surprise and nearly fell down the stairs. "Watch out there, Potter! Wouldn't want you falling and breaking your neck!" Draco Malfoy smirked up at him.

Harry buried his face in his hands. "Only you." He muttered.

"Who else could you have ever hoped for, darling?"

Pulling out his wand, Harry turned to the door. "Voldemort. Alohamora." He tapped the lock. His wand burst into a cloud of smoke and, with a loud quack, Transfigured itself into a stuffed mallard. A rather handsome one at that.

Harry pounded on the door. "TWINS!" Two sets of cackles met his outburst. "You had BETTER give me back my wand RIGHT NOW or I'll fucking kill you! Let me out!"

More laughter swept under the doorframe.

Swearing, Harry whipped around to face Malfoy. "Well?" He asked.

The Chaser stared at him, apparently nonplussed.

"Aren't you going to unlock the door?" _'Retard_.'

Malfoy reached into his pocket and smirked. The bastard. "They took my wand as well, it seems."

Harry gusted out a breath and walked down the rest of the stairs. He looked around. A dusty, overstuffed armchair, a wine rack, a picnic basket that doubled as an oven, a rickety, three-legged stool- nothing much to use against Malfoy. Well, he could stuff his head in that basket-

"Potter." Harry looked up. "I have a question for you, if you would deign to answer."

The brunette narrowed his eyes. "Well ask it. It's not like we have anything better to do."

"Why are you so against being civil? I've apologized for-"

"Don't pull that bullshit on me, Malfoy. You might have tricked Ron and Hermione, but _I_ know that, _deep down_?" He reached out and tapped the blonde's chest. "You're a git through and through. You always will be."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Please, Potter, you're turning into Snape. Why hold a schoolboy grudge? It's been-"

"Don't you compare me to Snape like that. First of all, he didn't really have a grudge against me, and second of all, he was a brave man, a better man than _you_ at any rate; I'm surprised you don't play for the Tallmond Thestrals, or some other bloody cheating team like-"

"Do you really think so low of me, Potter? I'm hurt!" Malfoy put his hand to his heart. "The Great Savior doesn't approve of my flying style, what am I to do?" He grinned, flashing straight white teeth. A rare commodity; good teeth were hard to come by in England, let alone in the magical community. Remember Karkaroff? Gross. Bloody _lucky_ Malfoy.

"Kill yourself?" Harry asked hopefully. The git just laughed and threw a warm, muscular arm around Harry's shoulders.

"Don't you wish? Honestly, though, Potter. I was hoping we could have a truce. I know it must be hard for you, pretending that you hate me but really yearning for my sexy body and devastating good looks."

"Please." Harry snapped, throwing the arm off. He was _not_ blushing, not at _all_, thank you. "I prefer my men to be… well… at least half-decent people."

"Not evil, manipulative, scheming, sexy, bastard ex-Slytherins like myself?" The Chaser asked.

"No." Harry crossed his arms.

"Not even the _super_-sexy kind?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry said "I hate you, Malfoy."

"So just to clarify, you like your men sexy?"

Harry glared at him and turned to sit in the armchair. He sunk down several inches; it seemed to be missing a few springs. Or… feathers, or whatever they put in armchairs.

Malfoy moved to stand closer. "Do you? A simple yes or no would suffice."

God, how to make this man shut up? "Yes, of course. It's not like I have a kink for ugly faces." 

"Thank Merlin." Malfoy said, drawing up the rickety stool and sitting down _far_ too close for Harry's taste. "I was worried there for a second. I mean, why else would you refuse _me?_" He laughed as Harry wrapped his arms tighter around himself. The sound did _not_ send shivers running up and down his spine. Nope.

"You are so vain."

The blond smiled winningly. "All in good humor, my friend! I can laugh at myself just as easily as the next man!"

"Of course you can."

Malfoy cocked his head. "Now what's _that_ supposed to mean, Gryffie?" He drawled.

Ignoring the nickname, Harry scowled. "Oh, you can do no wrong, can you? You've _changed your ways._ It doesn't matter that you were the biggest bastard in the school when we were younger (and not _that_ much younger!), but _no_, _now_ you're this star Quidditch player, and you're handsome, and you're in Witch Weekly, and everyone loves you, and-"

He was cut off by Malfoy's deep laugh. "You are so enamored!" He crowed.

"What?! No I'm not! I hate you!" Damn it, he was getting red again.

"No, you don't! See, you're blushing!"

"No I'm not!" His face heated even more.

"Yes, you so are! You like me!"

"No I don't!"

"Yes you do!"

"No I don't!"

"Yes!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Prove it."

"Do n- what?" What's this?

"Prove it, Potter." Malfoy smirked. "Kiss me and I'll decide whether you like it or not."

Harry drew back into his seat. "No! You'll just tell me that I liked it."

Malfoy held up his hand. "I swear on my honor I'll tell the truth. If you don't like it, I'll concede."

Harry scowled and unraveled his arms. "You have no honor."

"I'm hurt. On my mother's honor, then, if you trust me so little." The blonde's smirk widened.

The shorter of the two narrowed his eyes. Hmm…. This could end disastrously, but on the other hand, he wouldn't enjoy it anyway, so he could beat Malfoy. He really _did_ miss the days when he'd beaten the blond at everything, and without even trying! He could humiliate the Slytherin, tell him he was a bad kisser… Tell _everyone_ he was a bad kisser, because Malfoy would be sure to spread the incident around…

"Fine."

The Chaser grinned. "Fine _what?_"

Harry stared at the celing. "Fine, you can kiss me. _Only_ to prove that I don't like it, though. And no tongue. _Gross._" He shivered like a schoolgirl with a worm.

Malfoy gave him a mock-pout. "But how am I supposed to woo you into my arms if I can't tongue you down good and thorough?"

"Good Lord." Harry cringed. "If you put it like that, I might just take back my offer."

The blond rolled his eyes and stood up, moving closer to Harry. "Fine. How are you supposed to make a fair judgment if you don't experience the entirety of my kissing prowess?" Harry paused.

"Well, I think I'll be able to tell. And besides, I don't know where that tongue's been- I don't know the last time it was brushed!"

Now standing directly over Harry, a slight amount of color graced Malfoy's cheeks. "Potter, are you _honestly_ suggesting that I don't make my hygiene a _top_ priority? You obviously don't know me well." He lowered himself, situating on Harry's thighs. Harry drew back, sinking into the plush chair.

"Do you really have to sit on my lap for this?" He asked nervously. This could not end well- why had he said yes? It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now…

Malfoy grinned again, showing of his award- winning smile. "Well," he said, leaning in so that their breaths mingled (in a most _unacceptable_ manner) and their lips were nearly brushing, "if you were standing, you knees would most certainly buckle out from beneath you, and though I love to see you blush, I'd feel embarrassed _for_ you after _that_. And Malfoy's can't get embarrassed. It's against the rules, the _law_ actually."

"My knees would not buckle!" Harry said indignantly, trying to tear his eyes away from Malfoy's lips. "Also, Malfoy's shouldn't start sentences with a conjunction, it's improper gram-"

His complaints were cut off as the blonde's lips pressed up against his own. He froze. Oh God. This sexy man was kissing him, reaching around the back of his neck, cupping his jaw, running a hand down his chest… his eyes closed and his mouth opened, allowing Malfoy's tongue to quest inside. Their tongues touched lightly, teasingly, and warmth spread to the tips of his teeth as Malfoy's tongue ran along the roof of his mouth.

Far too soon, the blond detached his mouth from Harry's own, only to run it along his jaw, ignoring the slight stubble there, to find home on his neck. Hands roamed everywhere.

"Wait." Harry gasped. "Wait. Stop." The kissing, sucking, licking, _biting_, didn't stop. "No, Malfoy, wait." He pushed the persistent man away.

Malfoy looked up, irritated. "What? You can't even _pretend_ you didn't like that." He glanced down and smirked. "Hell, _no one_ could deny _that._" Harry grimaced.

"I… um…" He cast around, looking for a way to voice his fears. "I… I said no tongue." Well, that would work for now.

A fine blond eyebrow arched over a stony grey eye. "Stop making excuses. You're terrified, you little pussy!"

"What? I am not terrified!" 

"You _are_! You're scared out of your wits to go to bed with me. Have you ever even _been_ to bed with a man before?" He asked.

Offended, Harry exclaimed "_Yes!_"

"Sure…"

"I _have_!"

Malfoy reached down, letting his fingers play over Harry's erection. Harry's head fell back and he closed his eyes, trying not to moan.

Leaning in, the blond murmured. "I never said you hadn't."

Harry's eyes opened. "Yes you did."

"No I didn't." The fingers increased in pressure, moving up to undo Harry's jeans. Harry glanced down, then back up into Malfoy's grinning face.

"You're such a reject, Potter. I never, ever said that." He reached into Harry's boxers and grasped Harry's erection. He placed a light, playful kiss on the brunette's lips and started to move his hand. "I _dare_ you to tell me I did."

Harry swallowed. Knowing the Slytherin, contradicting him right now might not be such a good plan. He may just lose a few of his more important parts.

"Oh… kayyy… You didn't." Malfoy looked up.

"Are you serious?" He asked gleefully. "I so did! You're so gullible it's _pathetic_."

Bringing his hands up to his face, Harry groaned. "I can't believe you."

"Obviously you can," came Malfoy's voice, "If I was able to trick you that easily."

"You didn't _trick_ me! I just didn't want to make you mad when you were grabbing my dick! You could have ripped it off!"

Malfoy looked down at his hand. "You know, I don't really think I could. I mean, it would be kind of… well… I would say slippery but it's not yet, is it?" He leered at Harry. "Let's change that."

And, reaching into his pocket, the bloody git pulled out his wand.

"_What?!?_" Harry exclaimed. "You told me you didn't have it!"

Malfoy let out another throaty laugh. "Obviously, I lied, didn't I? I already said you were gullible."

As the blond cast a quick lubrication spell, the brunette sighed resignedly. As if having a sexy blond Quidditch star fondling you is a _bad_ thing. "I can't win against you, can I? I give up." He let his head fall back onto the chair once more.

The Slytherin froze. "You give up?" Harry nodded. "So I win?" He asked. Harry nodded again. "Okay then!" He stood up and wiped his lube-y hand on Harry's shirt. "I'm off to party. See you around, Gryffie."

Dumbfounded, mouth open and cock out, Harry stared as the blond waltzed toward the stairs. "W- What?! Wait!" He called.

Malfoy turned around. "What?"

"You're just going to _leave?_" Harry asked. "Without… you know…" He gestured to his Restricted Area. Malfoy followed the motion with his eyes.

"Without what?"

"I don't know… finishing what you started?"

The blond eyed him critically. "And what would that be?"

Harry put his face in his hands. "Are you going to make me say it?"

"Well, you're not being very clear."

Sighing, Harry decided the best thing would be to be straightforward with it. "Are you going to finish jacking me off or not?" He asked without looking up.

"No."

"And why not?"

"Mmm… I have something better we can do." Harry looked up.

"And what would that be?" He asked.

Malfoy leered at him suggestively. "I bet you can guess."

"I'm tired of this guessing game." Harry said. "I bet you can tell me what you're trying to say."

"You already know what I'm trying to say." Malfoy crossed his arms petulantly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on. You owe me for getting lube all over my nice shirt."

Malfoy scoffed. "Nothing you own can ever be called 'nice.'" He sneered.

"Oh really?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. "It's not like I'm the most powerful man in the country or anything." He said sarcastically.

The Chaser crossed his arms and raised his nose. "Exactly."

Harry stood and sauntered over to Malfoy. "I could _kill_ you," he whispered, "without _any_ repercussions." Malfoy seemed to jump a little. "I can do anything I want; I can _have _anyone I want." He said slowly, looking deep into the steely eyes of his company. The Gryffindor reached down and undid the taller man's jeans. _"Anyone"_ He said again.

Malfoy swallowed. He stared into Harry's eyes for a moment then grinned. "Indeed you could, Mr. Potter." Harry paused, taken aback by this abrupt change in character; Malfoy was indeed an enigma. "Now have a seat, kind sir, and I will be happy to show you what you have been missing for so very long." He pushed Harry backwards until they reached the chair. Harry fell into it with an ungraceful _'flump.'_

"So." The blond said in a businesslike tone, kicking off his shoes. "Time for class! Lesson one; never let _size_," he gestured between the two of them, "determine positions. A scrawny little shit like yourself could turn out to be a fantastic top (though you yourself most assuredly will not), while a tall, strong, sexy hunk of man like myself may just prefer to bottom once in a… very _long_ while. _Very_ long." Harry grinned.

"Sure. I bet you just gag for it, don't you?" He asked as Malfoy's pants dropped to the floor.

"That's disgusting." The blond sneered. "It's no wonder you're still a virgin if you talk like that."

Harry stared at him. "Not again with this virgin crap!" He spluttered. "I'm _not_ a- a…" He trailed off as Malfoy pulled down his boxers with indiscretion. Wow.

Malfoy was gorgeous. Speech left him as he stared at the body before him. Long, sinewy legs that went on for miles; slender but calloused hands unbuttoning a silk shirt to reveal a muscular, slightly hairy chest; and Malfoy's cock, full and erect, red in contrast to the pale skin. All gorgeous.

And all for Harry.

In an attempt to speed up proceedings, Harry hastily undid his own shirt and whipped it off, ignoring the snap of buttons as his cuffs were destroyed. He shoved his pants down his legs, only to have them caught over his shoes. Cursing, he ripped off the offending articles and looked up, only to be faced with a sight he could never forget.

"Harry," came Malfoy's voice from far above, "I'd like to introduce you to a good friend of mine. Harry, Scorpius. Scorpius, Harry." -1-

"_Scorpius?_" Harry asked as the appendage in question drifted even closer to his face. "Because that's a name, right?"

"Of course it's a name, you dolt. Now could you introduce me to yours?"

Harry grinned. "Of course. This is my Deathstick, I believe you've already met." Malfoy nodded. "And this is Count Sacula, with his two favorite ladies- LaFawnduh and Mary."

Malfoy tilted his head. "Mary?"

The scarred man nodded. "She's catholic. Very sensitive about her religion; I wouldn't push the subject with her, if I were you." He said in all seriousness.

The hips in front of his face moved forwards and he leaned back to avoid a collision. "Malfoy, what-" He was cut off as a familiar weight settled on his now naked thighs. "Oh."

The Quidditch star leaned over the chair's arm and retrieved his wand. With a single wave, Harry was lubricated once more and the body on his lap quivered and shook. Malfoy's hands gripped his shoulders harshly and his eyes were shut tight.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked cautiously, not sure if it was Malfoy's sex face he was seeing or not.

The blond paused for a moment, then nodded, relaxing slightly. "I'm fine. I charmed myself to make this a bit easier, but it's rather uncomfortable at first."

"Oh, okay." Harry understood. "Are you… still… you know…" He stopped, wondering how to continue.

"Up for it?" Malfoy laughed. "Of course. Who could resist you?"

Harry grinned. "Oh, plenty of people, I know for a fact. Apparently, though, you aren't one of them."

"Apparently." Malfoy said dryly as he lifted himself over Harry. He wrapped his legs around the back of the chair for better… access.

Harry reached down to cup Malfoy's ass. God, this was… graphic. He supported the blond as they lowered his body down. As soon as contact was made, Harry started to shake. Not much, but it was still there. A slight tremble in his arms, the way his hands gripped infinitesimally harder, the manner in which his legs bounced on the balls of his toes; all of this pointed to his arousal, though his face did a good job of hiding it. He reached one of his hands down to direct himself to the right spot, and Malfoy bit his lip. Everything was split in two; part of him viewed this completely detached, as though he were a spectator through a glass window; the rest of him was lost solely in the feeling of the moment, in the way Malfoy's face seemed to freeze as he was penetrated, the slight easing of pressure as the head of his cock went completely in, the heady waves of arousal rushing in his ears. Sex truly was an experience like none other.

Malfoy had to stop several times before lowering himself further. The spell, apparently, hadn't made it _completely_ painless. Each time they paused, Harry leaned forward to place light, reassuring kisses on the blonde's neck.

"I'm not some bloody woman, Potter, you don't have to treat me like one." Malfoy ground out the third time this had happened.

Harry laughed. "You certainly act like one."

The Chaser dropped the rest of the way down and groaned. Harry closed his eyes to marvel at the feeling. "I suppose next time I'll have to prove to you just how manly I can be."

Harry looked at him. For a while now, he hadn't really thought about what the repercussions of this might be. Would the two of them be together? Please Lord no. Would they fuck again? Possibly. Would Harry let himself be fucked by _Draco Malfoy_ of all people?

…Maybe.

That could be solved later.

Now, as Malfoy began to move, the future seemed distant and unimportant. All that mattered was now, and now there happened to be an incredibly sexy man grinding up against him. Harry removed one hand from Malfoy's ass and wrapped it around his cock. "Could you… do that lube sp-spell again?" He gasped. Malfoy dug his wand out from the crevices of the chair and cast the spell on himself. How he could do magic while fucking himself onto Harry, the Gryffindor would never know. Gel slid under the brunette's fingers as he grasped the erection once more, timing his strokes with Malfoy's movements.

Faster and slower and faster they moved, until something snapped inside them both and Harry was thrusting upward with all his might and Malfoy was dropping himself down with equal force, and Harry pulled and pulled and pulled, and Malfoy leaned in to kiss him, and it was sloppy and difficult and full of teeth and just what they needed, and the muscles on Malfoy's chest were flexing and falling, flexing and falling, and his legs tightened, forcing them both into the back of the chair, which was squeaking quietly, but neither of them cared, and it was faster and faster and harder and Harry was yanking Malfoy downwards onto him by his hip and Malfoy was groaning and gasping and biting Harry's neck, and his head fell back and his mouth fell open, then closed, then open and he let out a strangled yell as he clenched around Harry and the muscles in his chest tightened one last time, and Harry's hand was covered with thick white liquid as the blond writhed above him.

Then the entire world closed around Harry and he wondered distantly if he was going to have a heart attack. His chest seized up and he felt a building, promising pleasure in his belly, and then he came with such a force that he could hardly move, but Malfoy was doing that for him, and wave after wave of pleasure flooded his body as the universe turned blue and all thought left his head.

His first thought as he came down was that he had never felt so content in his life. Sitting here with Malfoy lying on his chest, panting, with his hand still wrapped around the blonds cock and his own still inside the other man was like nothing he had ever felt.

They lay there for long moments, breathing deeply, thinking whatever it is one thinks after orgasm but can never remember later. The peaceful silence was ended as Malfoy sat up and eyed Harry critically.

"Not bad, Potter. You were… better than I expected, to be honest." Harry grinned.

"And you were wonderful." He said, watching as the Chaser's chest puffed up predictably.

"Of course I was. Malfoys are the best. At everything." He explained.

"Even your dad?" Harry asked. "Oh, yeah, I bet he was _incredible_, and don't even get me started on that foxy mother of yours-" He held back a laugh as Malfoy cut him off angrily.

"That is _disgusting!_" He raged. "Don't you ever, _ever _say _anything_ like that again, or I swear to Merlin-"

"Relax, it was a joke! Just a joke!" Harry laughed.

The Slytherin gave him a hard stare before lifting himself up with a wince. Harry's cock slid out of him with at 'pop' and he relaxed.

"You okay?" Harry yawned. "I didn't hurt you too badly, did I?"

Malfoy stood, massaging his inner thighs, which had been stretched quite a bit during their activities. "I'm fine, Potter. As if you could ever hurt me."

Harry rolled his eyes and forced himself out of the chair. He picked up his pants (with his boxers still inside) and shimmied them on. "Of course." He said. "A lowly Potter could never _dream_ of harming a Malfoy- it's just not the way things work!" The blond nodded pompously.

"You seem to be getting the gist of things. Several years too late, but I suppose that could be forgiven. Potters aren't known to be the brightest."

As Harry laughed, he realized that maybe Ron had been right about Malfoy after all…

He really could ride a broom.

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**Please please please review! The more I get, the more likely I am to continue on to "Lesson Two!" If you want another chapter (in which you would discover Harry's profession), then you have to tell me. Feed my ego a bit. Or you could tell me what I did wrong so I could fix it.**

**-1- Okay, yeah, I know that was sick. That only makes it so much more wonderful.**

**Sorry I didn't manage to slip 'buttocks' in there anywhere. Or 'manhood.' How disappointing…**

**Until next time.**

**Oh, and before I go? My brother caught a glimpse of this. Wow. If my face has ever burned more, I can't remember when. Balls.**


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